Ehrfürchtig
by Shareq
Summary: Prussia wants Germany's hot sausage. Not quite what it seems, but pretty close. Germancest


A/N: Yo! This is my first Hetalia fic, my first overtly sexy fic, and the first fic I've posted in a really, really long time! I figured to make up for my extended vacation I'd post some Germancest I wrote for the kinkmeme on LiveJournal. Please enjoy!

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It's hard to tell what time it is when you wake up underground (in a basement, to be exact). Luckily, I have this amazing sense of time, so when my eyes popped open that day I immediately knew that it was 8:17. Also that's what my bedside digital clock said, but whatever.

I yawned widely before stretching out my curled up legs, wiggling my toes in bliss as my tensed muscles relaxed. I turned over on my back, staring at the cement ceiling with my arms folded under my head. It was pretty nice not to have anything urgent to take care of. Back in the old days, when I was younger and just as handsome, I'd be up at the crack of dawn every morning, training or hunting or working. Now, I got days like this, where I could just lay around until I felt like getting up or had to piss. It was a good feeling.

It seemed like I was the only one who got that privilege, though, 'cause around the time that my eyelids were starting to feel a little bit heavy I heard footsteps on my ceiling. That meant one of two things: we had a poltergeist, or West was up and moving around.

Knowing my baby bro, and knowing the likelihood of a random paranormal invasion, I figured it was the second thing. Whatever day it was, meeting day, weekend or holiday, Ludwig woke up at 6 AM, got out of bed at 6:05, and was showered and presentable to the world by 6:30. The fact that it was already- I squinted at my clock, though I didn't really need to- 8:23 meant that this was one of those rare occasions that he slept in.

That was a little weird, since as far as I know West only allows himself 3 "Late Days" a year, including one on Christmas, and I didn't think it was Christmas. If it was then I'd been asleep a little longer than I realized.

However strange it was, though, I was fully prepared to doze for a couple more hours when I heard a little thump from up above. I cracked one eye open to glare at the ceiling. When my noisy brother apparently didn't feel my warning through several feet of concrete, as there came a muffled clang through said concrete, I was fully prepared to place my hands over my ears and forget about it.

Then it hit me like a sack of potatoes.

My basement/room-thing was directly below the kitchen. The noises were coming from above, and thus, from the kitchen. West was making noises in the kitchen. _Thus, West was making food._

I didn't have time to marvel at my reasoning skills. My blanket was kicked to the side in half a second, and in another half a second I was at the foot of the stairs that led up onto the main floor.

There are very few things that can cause me to leave my warm bed that quickly. Most of them involve West (and one involves koalas, but I won't get into that, except to say that Australia's not the best guy to get hammered with). West barking at me to go do something is one, 'cause that man's got a voice that won't be denied; West sending me _looks _from across the room is another, 'cause that man's got something _else_ that won't be denied. You get what I'm talking about, huh? Huh? Heh heh.

His dick. I'm talking about his dick.

Anyway, one of the other things that motivates me so much is definitely my little bro's cooking. You wouldn't think it, but I'm pretty sure that Ludwig's cooking is on par with Italy's (the cute one, not the bitchy one). It's of a different style, but just as good.

The thing is, is that West hardly ever cooks. Whenever we need food, either Feliciano brings some over, we order out or I make it; and even though I'm awesome at an extraordinary number of things, cooking isn't really one of them. West is better, anyway. I try to get him to make stuff all the time, but it's always, "I've got paperwork" this and "Some of us have to actually pay bills!" that.

I'd reached the top step by now, the only thing between me and mooching breakfast off of Ludwig being the door in front of me. I wasted no time in twisting the knob and flinging the door open; luckily, it didn't bang into the wall, otherwise it would have made a hole like last time. As much as I loved my bro, getting yelled at for half an hour by a younger sibling is nowhere near fun.

As soon as that barrier was taken care of, the smell of something delicious frying took hold of my senses. And- oh mein Gott- was that sausage? Was West frying _sausages_ for breakfast?

There is something especially incredible about the breakfast sausages West makes. I don't know what he does to them, but whatever it is makes them so- so- _awesome._ I honestly have no idea how Feliciano and his ugly step-sister can refuse them. Hell, even my new best-buddy-in-the-world, whom I consider a master in all things breakfast related, Mattie, doesn't care for them. I usually just chalk it up to the fact that they're all pussies.

To me, though, those things are like a party of flavor in my mouth. A savory orgy on my tongue. Like if you took the greatest novel ever written or the greatest symphony ever composed and somehow transformed in into a taste- those would be Ludwig's sausages. And now they were but a short trip from being on the end of a fork on its way to my mouth.

I tip-toed my way down the hallway with its walls lined with framed photos of West's and my friends: Francis, Toni, Feliciano and his doppelganger, Austria and Elizaveta. There was even a small one of Poland and Lithuania (looking stupid, of course) in there, smooshed in between one of Matthew with his creepy-ass bear and another of Japan.

I reached the end of the hall and poked my head around the corner. I was planning to wait in the hallway until Ludwig left his plate of sausage unguarded and unobserved, at which point I'd swoop in and stealthily swipe them. That way, I'd get my sausages _and_ not have to deal with West badgering me to, "Take a shower, brother, you smell like one of the dogs," or, "If you want me to cook for you, you'll have to help with the dishes after," and stupid things like that.

What I didn't expect, though, was to find Ludwig looking completely sexy and adorable in one of his fifty-million black muscle shirts and some blue shorts, hovering over the stove with a spatula in one hand and his other wrapped around the handle of a frying pan. Don't get me wrong, I'd seen West look cute and sexy before (_many_ times before, if you catch my drift), but it was a total shock to see him out of bed in his sleep wear. The obsessive rule-follower I knew hardly ever started his day without being fully dressed and neatly groomed- and now that I really looked, I could see that his hair was free of its usual gel-prison, and if that wasn't just the _hottest_ thing...

In a split-second I abandoned my scheme for sausage-theft, opting instead to creep around the corner and into the room itself. To my right was the marble counter, on which a couple of empty plates sat with utensils and unfilled glasses beside them. Presumably this was where our sausages would be placed upon their completion.

God, I couldn't wait.

But there were more important matters to attend to at that moment! Namely, the matter of my beefcake little brother standing just a couple of feet in front of me, looking particularly grope-able in his light blue shorts and tight shirt that showed off his arms _juuuust_ right . When I was within grabbing distance, I took my chance: I darted in quickly, and before West could react beyond a surprised "Hey-!" I had my arms wrapped around his middle, my face buried in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

He tensed up for a second- he always did that- before relaxing and clearing his throat. "Um, good morning, brother," he said, in his deep voice. I felt my toes curl.

"Hey there, West," I murmured back, nuzzling his neck a little. I could feel the heat his face was giving off on my cheek. This guy... he was always so shy about things like this. If he weren't my cute-baby-brother/lover, I'd probably pick on him for it. As it was, though, I just sighed a little and kissed his shoulder before popping my head back up and asking brightly, "So, whatcha making?"

He cleared his throat again (he did that a lot, too) and answered, "Sausage links. I, ah, know you have been asking for them for a while, but I've been so busy lately. I thought that since I have a little time off this week, I would make them for you."

And wasn't that just damn heart-warming? But that was West for you; shy and awkward and so sweet. I felt a dopey expression make itself at home on my face and I nuzzled his cheek. Ludwig always made me feel kind of dopey, ever since he was a runt. "Ah, West, West, you're too good to me. Is that why you're still wearing these?" I pulled on the end of his shirt. "'Cause you know I like to see you like this?"

He mumbled something I didn't catch, but gave a tiny nod. I grinned and tightened my arms around his middle a little bit; for a second I felt one of his bigger hands squeeze at mine before it returned to the frying pan handle.

"Brother," he said, "let go for a minute. I have to take these out of the pan."

I thought about it briefly. "Nah."

He gave a long-suffering sigh (even though I know he totally didn't mind, not really) and did his best to spear the sausages in the pan with a fork, then transfer them onto the serving plate he'd picked up in his left hand. He was doing a pretty good job, too. I guess he must have been used to having to get things done with people clinging to him by now, knowing the way Feliciano was.

Every time he stabbed a sausage and lifted it away from the pan, juice would weep out of the puncture and drip back into the pan, _popping_ and _sizzling_. I groaned a little, my mouth watering. Did I mention that I really, _really_ love the way West makes sausage? I think I have. That delicious aroma was drifting up toward me, practically making love to my nostrils. I inhaled deeply.

When Ludwig had the last one impaled on the end of the fork, I tugged on his shirt again. He paused, looking over his shoulder at me. I said, "Gimme," staring pointedly at the sausage hovering over the pan.

"Brother, it's still hot..."

"I don't care. Gimme." I tugged the shirt again, a little harder, to underline my point: Sausage, my mouth, _now._

He grumbled, but a second later he'd disentangled himself from my hug, turned around so we were face-to-face, and held the fork out to me. He was probably expecting me to take it and help myself, but that didn't sound all that fun, you know? So I smiled as sweetly as I could (not sure how sweet that is; my face is suited more for smirks than smiles) before leaning forward and taking a little bit of the link into my mouth.

I didn't bite it immediately, 'cause West was right, it was _hot_. But also so, so good. As soon as my tongue hit it, the bold, slightly spicy taste overwhelmed all my other senses, and I couldn't help groaning softly and running my tongue along the underside of it. Some of the juices were leaking out of the puncture where the fork had it speared, so I let the end slip out of my mouth to lick them away before they could drip onto the floor.

I heard Ludwig's breath hitch, and even with my eyes half-lidded (when had they slipped partway closed again...?) I could tell he had tensed up. In a good way.

Now, it was totally not my original intention to perform fellatio on a breakfast food. It just tasted really fucking good, and when things taste good I guess I tend to moan or something. Francis told me one time that I was the only guy who got more orgasmic about food than himself, but I swear I never notice it.

I did notice that West noticed, though, and I thought, _Why not have some fun, huh?_ So I met his eyes for a second (and oh _God_ his gaze was heated) before turning my attention back to the sausage. I ran my tongue along the side from where the juices were still weeping out back to the very tip, letting just a little of it slip into my open mouth. I let most of it slide back out, then I bobbed my head forward a little and took more of it in. I let out a couple of fluttery sighs- 'cause, one, I knew that West got off on vocalization more than anything, and two, this was the best damn thing I had ever tasted in my life. And I've lived a pretty fucking long time.

I flicked my eyes up to West's face and took in the flushed cheeks and that _look_ of his. West is usually a pretty stoic guy, but when he gets excited all his emotions move into his eyes, easy to see. It's one of the things I love about him.

I took hold of the wrist of the hand that was holding the fork, to keep the sausage steady as I moved on the next part of... whatever the hell I was doing. I moved my head forward until I felt the end of the sausage prod the back of my throat, lips wrapped around the thick link; as I moved back, I let my teeth scrape against the meat, feeling juices escape onto my waiting tongue. This time when I groaned it was _all_ from the taste, but I don't know if West knew that or not 'cause he groaned a little too.

I did this a few more times, feeling some juice dribble out of the corner of my mouth; before I could even blink, and much to my surprise, West darted forward and licked it away before it could run down to my jaw. I shivered a little and moaned low in my throat and decided that enough was enough. I pulled away from the sausage, biting the end off and chewing happily, watching West watching me with his eyes dark and hot. I finally swallowed and sighed softly, tilting my head slightly to the side and grinning. "Fucking awesome."

West blindly moved his arm behind him to deposit the fork and food somewhere in the general vicinity of the serving plate before wrapping his hard arms around my shoulders and waist and pulling me against his body. I tipped my head back and eagerly accepted his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, running along my teeth and tongue. And actually, I was pretty fine with putting breakfast on hold for now. I was going to be getting an entirely _different_ kind of sausage pretty soon, if you know what I mean.

... I'm talking about his dick again.


End file.
